Talk to the Snail by Stephen Clarke (best selling author of A Year in the Merde) is the latest book I'm reading now. A simple book, with probably 35 times lesser pages than Harry Potter. Even so, I still took more than a month to read it. In fact, it's still unfinished. Hah.
Ten Commandments for Understanding the French (written by a Brit living in France. how ironic!). I find it really hilarious, super entertaining, if you have some spare time for a good laugh. At least it's my kind of humor, not sure if it's to your taste. It's not just about the content, but his evil sarcasm too.
Here's some parts that I simply adore. hahaha sorry if you don't get the joke.
You can't live in France if you don't appreciate food. The French do not respect people who deny themselves any pleasure at all, and, despite what they might try to tell the world, they take food even more seriously than sex. So someone who is not able to groan orgasmically at the mere mention of pigs' entrails is roughly equivalent to an impotent monk.
hah, so matter-of-fact.
It is common to see waiters or cooks carrying an armful of unwrapped baguettes through the streets. The loaves are often cut into slices by the waiters, who handle the money. The baskets will be served at one table, fondled by the customers, taken back to the breadboard, and the leftover chunks of baguette will be used to fill the other baskets. So the piece of bread with which you soak up the vinaigrette on your plate night well have been squeezed by a boulangere, rubbed under a waiter's armpit, fingered by a previous diner, and maybe even dropped on the cafe floor, before you pop it into your mouth. Yummy.
hahahaha plain evil.
An English expat once told me what happened when she's eaten a snack with traces of peanuts in it. She'd start to swell up and get short of breath, and afraid she was going to die. When the ambulance came, she told them 'Je suis allergique aux cacahuetes'- I am allergic to peanuts- and they burst out laughter. In their defence, the sentence does sound absurd in French. It would be like telling English ambulancemen that 'My ketchup was radioactive.'
How the hell did he come up with such lame relationship between these two.. hahaha.
A French friend of mine who spent a week vomiting after a mussel-gathering trip in Normandy was astonishingly philosophical about her experience. 'The sewage outflow was round the other side of the headland, so we thought they'd be okay,' she said. 'My grandparents have been eating the mussels for years, and they never get sick.' Sewage as vaccine. Not everyone's cup of tea, even in France.
Sarcastic. I like.
As the French yachtsman Olivier de Kersauson put it: 'I'm amazed that the police carry out breath test to find out how much alcohol people have in their blood without testing for the vintage.'
By the way, this sailor once claimed to have been slowed down during a round-the-world race by a sixty-foot squid clamped to the hull of his boat.
Drink-driving was made worse by French clubbers. Every Friday and Saturday, after a long night of clubbing, carloads of young revellers end their short lives by crashing into the plane trees that line French provincial roads. With typical French logic, some regions are trying to tackle this drink-driving problem by ( you guessed it) chopping down the plane trees.
Drinking is such an important French indulgence, non?
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